


Mile After Mile

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 06:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: Five journeys.





	1. A Smile in Her Hand

“Hey, there.”

The first thing she hears upon waking up, head still foggy enough to wonder if the voice is a part of the soft, sweet dream she’d been having.

But no. 

She opens her eyes slowly, blinking to clear the mist, and there she is. 

Hope. 

“What’re you doing here?” The words come out just the slightest bit slurred, like she’s had one too many drinks at the club. Except she never slurs, not even when drunk. Her consonants don’t get heavy, her vowels just get lazy, and slow. She drawls something fierce, her Georgia coming out strong.

“Your sister called me,” Hope pats and smooths the thin blanket that covers her bare shoulders. “At least somebody had the sense to do it.” There’s a slight piercing quality to the words, and there will be a discussion later. 

But for now, Hope just gives her a little, tired smile. 

“Couldn’t let you wake up without me. Not this time.”

Kelley just turns her head into Hope’s hand. “No big thing, didn’t want to worry you.” The truth is that she wasn’t sure Hope would come. They hadn’t left off in the best place the last time they’d been together, and Kelley hadn’t yet figured out how to apologize for the words she’d thrown.

But here Hope is anyway. Sitting at her side despite it all. And maybe this was enough. Maybe she didn’t need a big gesture or the right words. 

Maybe she just needed to tell Hope how she felt. How wrong she’d been.

And maybe there was a light in the darkness that had clouded her heart ever since.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, reaching out, forgetting about the IV still in her hand, the blood pressure cuff around her upper arm. “I shouldn’t have—“

But Hope cuts her off, shakes her head and rubs a calloused thumb over her warm cheek. 

“Wasn’t just you,” she whispers back in return. “I said things too.”

And just like that, the darkness parts, and her heart settles back where it seems it’s always belonged, right in the safe curve of Hope’s palm. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Kelley says softly, eyes already drooping again, content that Hope will watch over her as she sleeps the anesthetic away, that she’ll still be there when Kelley wakes again. 

Hope smoothes the unruly waves away from the younger woman’s face, gentle as can be. 

“You guys had a fight? If I’d known I wouldn’t have called you,” Erin says from the doorway, and Hope blushes. Who knows how long Kelley’s older sister had been standing there. What she’d overheard, what she’d seen. 

“A—difference of opinion,” Hope is careful to say, though fight is most certainly a more accurate term. “And I’m glad you did.”


	2. Settle for Shadows

After the fight, Kelley finds her in a bar. A dive, tucked into some forgotten corner of the city.

The Open sign flickers, on and off, in a way that isn’t at all intentional, and when she pulls open the door, Kelley blinks at the sour smell of smoke and sweat and sadness. There’s no hope in a place like this, she thinks, eyes adjusting to the dim lights, searching out the woman she came for.

And then she sees her, sitting in a booth in the back corner, hands curled around a glass that Kelley knows had at least two fingers of whiskey in it when the bartender set it down on the table.

Nor was it the first, Kelley can tell. It’s in the slump of Hope’s shoulders, the exaggerated languid tapping of her fingers against the glass, the way she licks at her lips and looks down into the glass.

Kelley sighs softly, the fight that had been brewing in her chest slipping away with every second she stands there watching.

“Oh, Hope,” she whispers, and makes her way toward the bartender.

 

* * *

 

“This seat free?” Kelley asks, and the look on Hope’s face at the sound of her voice is heart-breaking. Like the thought of someone seeking her out, of someone coming after her is foreign to her, unfathomable.

The younger woman doesn’t wait for her to answer, but sits in the booth, just across the table from Hope, setting down two bottles of cold water, condensation dripping down to pool in the lines and scratches on the heavily scarred wooden table.

The silence between them is heavy, almost painful. But Hope doesn't speak a word, doesn't even acknowledge the other woman's presence.

Not until the whiskey in the glass is gone and she lifts her head to signal the waiter for another. And then she meets Kelley's patient gaze, blue eyes dull with alcohol and sadness, mouth curved into an angry sneer, almost taunting the other woman. A challenge, a dare to try and interfere, try to stop her from jumping with open eyes into this eddy of despair and self-destruction she's staring down.

And it would be terrifying, that look, if Kelley didn't know any better. If Kelley hadn't been here for years, moving seamlessly back and forth between the center, the margins.

She's familiar with Hope's masks, her disguises.

And she's had years of practice learning how to read through them all.

She hasn't always known how. Some of them, some of them were easy. The grumpy facade, the fake surly slant of her mouth. That, Kelley saw through immediately. To the girl underneath, a little odd, a little quiet, used to being on the outside looking in.

But there were some, some that took her years to learn, years and tears and long angry silences in-between fits of unexpected passion. Evenings spent under the solid weight of Hope's body, mornings waking to an empty bed, a cold pillow.

It's been a long, hard journey to this place. To this place where there's something real, something lasting between them. This place they've fought for and struggled for.

Sometimes, it's still a struggle.

Sometimes, it's still a fight.

 

* * *

  
"I love you, but you're still cleaning up after yourself," she says as they enter the house finally. 

Finally.

Hope stiffens, and Kelley realizes. She'd thought this was the end. She'd thought she'd ruined what they had beyond repair.

"Hope, I'm pissed as hell at you, and you owe me and a few other people an apology. But I understand. I would prefer you respond differently to things, maybe in a way that didn't have me half-carrying you out the back door of a disgusting bar because you drank until you couldn't stand any longer, but I understand. I know you and I love you, I've known who you are since long before you even noticed me. Someone you loved died, and that's a terrible thing. And yeah, we need to talk about how you could have made a better choice in handling it, or about how maybe now might be a good time to think about scheduling a few sessions with your therapist, but I don't stop loving you because you're stupid, Hope."

The tears Hope cries are a mix of emotions, each fueling the next. Sadness and grief, anger and shame, relief and love.

And Kelley wants to go over and give the woman a reassuring hug, but two things keep her where she stands.

The first is the fact that the next move has to be Hope's. It's not a test, not a hoop the other woman has to jump through. It's just a fact.

Kelley held out the olive branch.

But Hope has to take it. Has to want to take it. It's a choice only she can make.

The taller woman crosses the distance between them and wraps herself tight around Kelley with a soft "I'm sorry," and Kelley smiles.

Olive branch accepted.

And after a moment, Kelley remembers the second thing.

"Fuck, Solo, you reek," she's barely able to speak for the gagging. "Like, seriously. You need to dunk yourself in some bleach, babe."

Hope takes a surreptitious sniff and her lip curls in disgust.

"Shower with me," she asks softly, and Kelley wants to give in. But she can't. It's important that she doesn't.

"Sorry, gonna have to be a solo op," she answers and smirks, "because I'm going to take your credit card and call to have my car cleaned, that should teach you a lesson about what is and what isn't an appropriate place to have a projectile vomiting fit fueled by bottom-shelf tequila."

She heads down the hall, whispering to herself about whether leather seating would be easier to clean, and Hope gives a small, careful smile at the shorter woman's backside. She can afford to show her gratitude. New leather seats are a small price to pay.

"Hey, Kelley," she calls out, and watches as the other woman stops and turns, waiting.

"I love you," Hope says and it's an apology and a thank you and a promise all at once.

Kelley nods, and Hope can feel relief spreading through her body.

They're going to be okay.

"I love you too," Kelley answers.

They're going to be okay.


End file.
